


Flowers from Faerghus

by shinymailbox



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blue Lions Route, F!Byleth, Gen, Post-Canon, Self Esteem Issues, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, just some wholesome byleth, no beta we die like men, now it’s a fic centered on Flayn and Byleth’s friendship, this fic wasnt even supposed to include Flayn but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:51:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21166370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinymailbox/pseuds/shinymailbox
Summary: Byleth Eisner has recently acquired two titles: Archbishop of the Church of Seiros and Queen Consort of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. The only problem: she doesn’t think she’s qualified for either one.





	Flowers from Faerghus

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the wholesome zone. only wholesome fics here. (And also a rare post canon fic from me! Though that’s probably because I finished Blue Lions for the second time only a few days ago.)

It does not take long for the people to notice that Byleth is nothing like Rhea.

The fancy titles tacked on to _ Her Grace’s_ name do little to mask the mint-haired woman’s rougher, cruder nature.

Where Lady Rhea’s authority was serene and motherly, Lady Byleth’s is strong and commanding. Rhea always wore a soft expression— often, Byleth wears no expression upon her face at all. Monks, nuns, and knights that have made Garreg Mach home for decades still hesitate when they see the new Archbishop wandering the monastery, making sure to pet every stray cat and dog that crosses her path. As a professor, many of these people simply disregarded her—something that became near impossible as soon as she inherited the title of their archbishop.

“They still don’t know what to make of you,” Seteth tells her when she asks about their glares on a morning in the office that was once Rhea’s but is now Byleth’s.

The archbishop straightens the small, navy shawl resting atop her shoulders— something of Lady Rhea’s, before she left to spend the remainder of her possibly immortal life in Zanado. It’s the only part of the traditional Archbishop getup that Byleth bothers to wear. “I understand. I never do seem to make very good first impressions. You didn’t trust me at all when we first met.” The former professor pauses for a second. “Dimitri didn’t, either.”

Seteth picks up the piece of paperwork he’d been working on and puts it on his “completed” pile. “Truly?”

“Is it that hard to believe?”

Seteth grabs the next paper to be done. “I was under the impression that he’d been mesmerized by you from the very beginning.”

Byleth stares wistfully at the emerald on her ring finger. “He told me, once, that he thought I was the kind of person that didn’t think twice about taking lives, when he first met me.”

“And yet, Dimitri and I have both grown to trust you wholeheartedly since our first meeting. I am certain the monastery’s residents will soon come to regard you just as highly as we do.”

Byleth’s expression is one of gratitude. If she is honest with herself, she cannot imagine being as beloved as Lady Rhea. Her students had admired her so much five years ago, and their trust and friendship had been oh so foreign to the traveling mercenary. She had commanded the respect of the monastery back then and it had been almost too much—it is difficult, then, for her to face the possibility that she may soon be beloved by her entire nation. “Thank you, Seteth,” she says with a slight nod before rising from her desk. “I should be meeting up with Flayn soon. She asked me to eat lunch with her today.”

“Enjoy yourselves,” Seteth tells the green-haired woman as she slowly opens the office door. Byleth is unable to see it, but his mouth curls into a fond smile.

—————

“I still cannot believe you are going to be the Queen,” Flayn says, taking another bite of her sweet bun. 

The archbishop blows on her teacup full of the chamomile she had brewed for the two of them. “I can’t believe it either.” 

Flayn licks some powdered sugar off her thumb in a way Seteth would surely scold her for. Byleth has spent enough years eating her meals with Captain Jeralt that Flayn knows she doesn’t care much about table manners. “Are you not excited? You are to be both archbishop and queen! It is almost like a storybook.”

Byleth sips her tea with a small sigh. “I’m not even used to being the Archbishop yet.”

Flayn shakes her head, her green drills bouncing rather cutely against her cheeks. “I think that you carry out your duties as if you were made for your position. I do not believe that anyone else could do half as well as you.”

”I’m flattered, but that still... It doesn’t mean I’m going to be comfortable with my status just like that.” 

Taking another sweet bun in her hand to replace the one she had just finished, Flayn takes a bite, thinking for a little on Byleth’s words. After a few seconds, she swallows, and lets out a small hum of understanding. “You were raised a mercenary, were you not?”

Byleth’s lips part from the edge of her teacup. “Yes. I spent most of my life traveling with my father.” Unspoken understanding passes between her and Flayn. “We never stayed in the same place for long.”

”Oh, I am jealous,” Flayn says, wistfully, as she finally reaches for the pot of chamomile and a teacup of her own. “I spent a great deal of time without traveling far at all. It does grow terribly boring.”  
  
Byleth cocks her head to the side slightly as Flayn pours herself a cup of tea. “I like staying in one place. I had never had a permanent room of my own before I became a professor — Ah, the tea is hot still. Don’t burn yourself.”

”I will try not to,” Flayn nods, moving her lips away from the teacup’s rim. “If I may return to our previous topic... yes, I suppose it is nice to have a home to call your own, though I have not gone without one before.”

”It’s... odd. I lived most of my life without a permanent home, and in a few short weeks, I’ll have two.”

Flayn is blowing on her tea quite furiously, but she stops for a moment to reply. “Ah, of course! I had almost forgot that you are to live in the palace at Fhirdiad for part of the year.”

“I’ve never been to the palace, and I am going to live there soon. It seems nervewracking... but, I had never been to Garreg Mach either before I began to work here, so I’m not very worried.”

Flayn finally gets to take a sip of her chamomile, and she smiles. “Besides, Dimitri will be there with you!” (Byleth’s mouth turns up in a rare, tiny smile at the idea of seeing her fiancé’s face again.) “I am sure you will be able to overcome any hesitations with your loved ones by your side.”

Something changes in Byleth’s expression. She’s holding her teacup in her hands rather close to her face. “...Flayn?”

”What is the matter, Profe— Byleth?”

Byleth sighs. “Do you think I will make a good queen?”

”Of course!”

Nervousness on the Archbishop’s face is a seldom-seen sight, but Flayn can sense the other green-haired woman’s emotions quite well at this point. “I’m not sure the people like me,” she admits.

Flayn bites her lip ever so slightly. It’s true— there are quite a few in the church especially that, despite harboring no negativity towards the woman herself, believe that Byleth is wholly unsuited for her current position as Archbishop, and even more unsuited to be the future Queen of Faerghus. Flayn is aware that Byleth has seen the glares of older monks and nuns and church members— glares that definitely do not help the mint-haired woman’s self-esteem. “Your people simply have not met you yet.”

”I’m worried that... they won’t get the chance to meet me. They’ll keep seeing me as the dead-faced mercenary who doesn’t know two things about leading a country.”

Flayn’s head shakes. “You won the war for us, Byleth. You have, undeniably, proven that you are an excellent leader, and I am certain that the people of Faerghus will recognize you as such.”

If she finds it strange to be receiving wisdom from Flayn, Byleth doesn’t let it show on her face (much like everything else she doesn’t show.) She figures that, for someone who (accidentally confirmed that she) has been alive for such a long time, she must have some worthwhile advice. Plus, she spends all her time around Seteth. Byleth can almost hear the aforementioned man’s influence in Flayn’s words. “They might recognize me as a leader, but will they recognize me as their queen? I’m not... very queen-like.”

Flayn laughs slightly. “You are just being nervous, now! I do not think there is any reason for you to worry so.”

Byleth takes the last sip of tea from her cup and exhales. “I hope you’re right.”

—————

She has never worn a dress this relentlessly tight before, though at least it covers the worst of the battle scars on her forearms. In just a couple of hours, she will be the Queen Consort of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, a title she’d been expecting to gain for the past few weeks but now that it’s so close to happening it terrifies her more than it ever has. She is alone in the room, left to fiddle with the jewelry she’s been given to wear. It feels terribly quiet.

She wishes Sothis were here to ease her fears, to tell her her mind is being unreasonable. Anxiety like she has rarely if ever felt before claws at her stomach. 

A knock at the doorbell forces her to finally slide the jeweled necklace she had been playing with around her neck before she goes to answer it. _It’s probably Mercedes and Annette coming to work on my makeup, _she thinks. Yet when she opens the door, she doesn’t see orange and brown at all— the hair of the girl in front of her is the striking forest green of one of her bridal party. “Byleth!” Flayn exclaims, her face beaming. “You look absolutely beautiful!”

“Thank you...Flayn,” Byleth says, her eyes still a little wider than normal. “What’s the matter?”

Flayn’s smile at her former professor is bright as sunlight when she takes the other woman’s wrist in her hand. “You must see this,” she tells her. Byleth is yanked outside her room into the palace halls, following closely behind Flayn until the shorter woman abruptly stops at a wall. There are wreathes and arrangements of flowers neatly lined up, and a doll in the Archbishop’s outfit that, clearly, is not a doll of Lady Rhea. Flayn looks up at Byleth, face still shining like a star.

As soon as her mind registers what she’s seeing, Byleth’s hand flies over her mouth. “Who sent these?”

”The people,” Flayn replies immediately. “I was delighted when I saw these gifts for you, and I knew I needed to bring you to see them as well.”

”I didn’t expect anything like this,” the archbishop says, barely above a whisper. 

Flayn picks up one of the flower wreaths and hands it to Byleth, making sure the note tied to the wreath is clearly visible. “Some of them even have messages on them. I, of course, did not read them, but they are meant for you,” she tells her. “You do not need to tell em what the notes say... but I must admit I am curious.”

Byleth hmphs in her own sort of subdued chuckle. “I’ll read them to you. This one says ‘_To Her Grace, May she forever be blessed by the Goddess.’” _Byleth snorts a little again at the irony of that comment. 

Flayn hums, picking up the next arrangement and note for the archbishop to read. “I told you that you would have no reason to worry!”

Byleth smiles. It is a wider smile than Flayn has ever seen on the normally stoic woman, and for all her earlier talk about being “nothing but a dead-faced mercenary,” her grin brings nothing but life to the halls of the palace. “You were right,” she says, picking the next note from Flayn’s outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve played this game six times so far, please send help.


End file.
